"It's yours."
Jack Kadere lounged on Lois Lane's sofa, one arm draped across the backrest, watching her run her fingers over the coffee table's surface. The metal was cool and impossibly smooth, catching the afternoon light from her apartment windows in a way that made the whole living room glow faintly gold.
"Given to me?" Lois stared at the table—solid gold, the same table that had been cheap laminate five minutes ago. She did the math in her head and stopped when the number got absurd. Her salary at the Daily Planet was nothing to sneeze at, but this single piece of furniture probably exceeded her annual income several times over.
She steadied herself. She'd interviewed warlords and stood in the middle of warzones. A gold coffee table wasn't going to rattle her for long.
"You're not short on money," she said, straightening. "So what do you want?"
"You're a reporter. I'm providing you with news material." Jack's smile was lazy, almost catlike. "What do you think I want?"
The pieces clicked together instantly. "You want me to publish it. Make people aware of him." Her voice sharpened. "Is he really an alien?"
"He is."
"Why?" Lois pressed. "Why do you want this out there?"
Jack tilted his head, appearing to consider the question with genuine thought.
"Interesting?" He shrugged.
"I can give you detailed information about him—more than he probably knows about himself. Not long ago, an organization with clearance levels above the FBI came asking for this exact intel. I turned them down." His eyes glinted with amusement. "So, Miss Lane, consider yourself privileged."
"Wait."
Lois held up a hand, crossed the room, and returned with a legal pad and pen. She sat on the armchair across from him, pen poised. "Go ahead."
"His homeworld was called Krypton. Their technology was millennia ahead of Earth's. Twenty thousand years ago, they sent scout ships across the galaxy to identify planets suitable for colonization. The ship you found in the Arctic was one of them—dispatched to Earth, then abandoned when the mission failed."
Jack spoke with the ease of someone reciting a grocery list. "Krypton eventually collapsed. Resource depletion, internal conflict, planetary instability. Before the end, one couple launched their infant son toward Earth. His name is Kal-El."
Lois's pen scratched rapidly across the paper.
"He's been hiding among humans ever since, concealing what he can do. You've seen him—he looks indistinguishable from any human. Kryptonians and humans are nearly identical in appearance. But on Krypton, under their red sun, Kryptonians were ordinary. Here, under a yellow sun, in Earth's atmosphere..." Jack spread his hands. "They become something else entirely. Superhuman strength. Speed. Invulnerability. Flight. Heat vision. The works."
"Superman," Lois murmured, testing the word. It fit. She gestured for him to continue.
"Kryptonian society used artificial genetic propagation. Every citizen's role was predetermined at conception—worker, soldier, scientist, leader. Their entire civilization was built on genetic determinism. But Kal-El was different." Jack paused, a grin spreading across his face. He lifted his hands and clapped three times, slow and deliberate.
Lois blinked.
"Natural birth," Jack said, clapping again with theatrical emphasis. "The old-fashioned way."
Understanding dawned, and Lois couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her. "You're ridiculous."
"I prefer 'charming.'" Jack's grin didn't waver. "Hidden inside his cells is something called the Codex—a genetic archive containing the DNA templates of every Kryptonian who ever lived. When Krypton exploded, not everyone died. A group of military officers had staged a coup shortly before the end. They were imprisoned in a dimensional pocket called the Phantom Zone, which meant they survived the planet's destruction."
Lois's pen had stopped moving. She was listening now, fully absorbed.
"The leader's name is Zod. Former commander of Krypton's military forces. His entire purpose is rebuilding Kryptonian civilization, and for that, he needs the Codex." Jack's tone remained conversational, almost bored. "When that scout ship activated in the Arctic, it sent out a signal. A beacon. Zod will have received it by now."
The words hung in the air.
Alien invasion.
It sounded like the plot of a summer blockbuster, except Lois had touched that ship. She'd seen what Kal-El could do.
"What about you?" she asked. Journalist instinct overrode everything else—she needed the full picture. "How do you know all this?"
Jack was already standing, brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket. "Aliens aren't that special."
"You're leaving?" Lois rose quickly. "How do I contact you afterward?"
"I'm not going anywhere." He settled back onto her sofa, this time stretching out with his boots propped on the armrest. "Once you publish this story, Kal-El will come looking for you. I'd rather be here when he does."
"That's your real purpose," Lois said. It wasn't a question.
Jack's only response was an enigmatic shrug.
Lois let it go. She had a story to write.
---
She lost track of time at her desk. The article went through revision after revision—she'd written hundreds of pieces over her career, but none had made her this careful. Every sentence felt like it carried weight she couldn't fully measure. The words blurred together until her neck ached and her eyes burned.
She leaned back, rolling her shoulders, and glanced toward the living room.
Jack was still on the sofa. His wrist was raised, and hovering above a sleek band wrapped around his forearm was a holographic display—blue light projecting what looked like a three-dimensional map scattered with pulsing markers. His fingers moved through the projection, manipulating data points she couldn't begin to interpret.
Lois approached, curiosity pulling her forward. "What is that?"
"Gideon."
The projection shifted. A woman's face materialized in the blue light, rendered in clean geometric lines.
"Hello, Miss Lane," the projection said.
"H-hello." Lois recovered quickly. "This is... an artificial intelligence?"
"Sharp as expected." Jack didn't look away from the display. "You'd make a decent detective."
"Are you searching for something?"
"Correct."
Jack's lips curved upward. Without warning, he let himself tip sideways, his head landing squarely in Lois's lap.
She froze, hands hovering awkwardly, unsure whether to push him off or—
"Yellow sunlight enhances Kryptonian abilities," Jack said, staring up at her ceiling as if he hadn't just made himself comfortable on her thighs. "On Earth, a Kryptonian is essentially a god. Near-total invulnerability. Almost no weaknesses."
Lois's hands settled, one on the sofa cushion, one uncertainly near his shoulder. "Almost?"
"Low resistance to magic, for one. But the main vulnerability is a mineral called Kryptonite—green crystalline rock, radioactive debris from Krypton's explosion. Exposure weakens them dramatically. Prolonged contact can kill them."
"You're searching for Kryptonite." Lois connected the dots. "To use against Kal-El? Or Zod?"
"No."
Jack's grin turned impish, eyes bright with private amusement.
"I just want to see the expressions on certain people's faces when they desperately need Kryptonite and discover every last piece of it is already in my hands."
---